Brooklyn, 14; Camden, 15

Brooklyn

Waves of nausea splash like a molten tidal wave throughout my stomach, as the sound of the chattering of Claremont students, invade the peace of my mind. Clutching onto the books that are tightly pressed against my chest like my life depends on it, I'm able to make it to my locker without lifting my gaze from the floor. I don't need reminders telling me I'm being stared at and not in a good way. A million questions buzz through my mind, and don't I wish I knew what the answers were. A part of me wants to know what people think of me. The remaining percentage doesn't. The moment my fingers touch the knob of my locker for me to open it, a loud splash fills my ears, and my books scatter on the floor. My curly, brown hair is wet, my favorite Metallica shirt is wet, and my vision starts to blur.

Dread and embarrassment clog my throat. I dare myself to look up.

Dare myself to look up at him.

"And a very good morning to you too, little Ms. Boring," he chuckles darkly, as a pair of black Balenciaga shoes stop near my scattered, wet books. "Thought I'd give you an early valentine present. But unfortunately, you'll have to spend it talking dirty on your own."

I bite my lip to stop the tears from falling. I can almost taste the blood.

Camden St. James. Claremont's star quarterback and golden boy. Every boy wants to be him and every girl wants to be with him. Not to mention, he's the bane of my existence and my tormentor. My fingers curl into fists the second I lift my gaze, and our eyes connect. Contempt and disdain dance around like little blue fireflies in his eyes, and I watch his lips form into a devilish smirk.

"Why?" I croak, my voice barely coming out as a whisper. Don't say it. Don't do it, Brooklyn. Please don't do this. "What do you want from me?" By now, everyone starts to gather around us.

"Why? Did you guys hear that? Brooklyn-Boring-Finely just asked me 'Why." Shifting his gaze to the crowd circling us, he nods his head before pinning me with a menacing stare. "Don't you get it? It's because you piss me off," Camden spits, stepping forward and taunting me like a caged mouse. "Everywhere I go, you are always there. You don't let me have my fucking time alone because your existence sucks my patience like a leech. Like a coke-infused hooker who's about to have her last orgasm." Everyone breaks out in snorts of laughter.

His words slice through my chest like an open wound.

"I hate repeating myself, Finely. And I hate it even more, when thick-skulled jerk-offs like you can't seem to listen. Whoever is in my way, they are mine. Case in point, you are my shiny red target. Boo-fucking-hoo."

"Enough!" I scream, rage blinding me in a red haze. My tolerance snaps, and a sharp pain bolts through my wrist when my palm collides with his cheek. I can't believe I did that. I can't believe I found the courage, the audacity to slap Camden St. James.

"This is just the beginning, Finely. And I'll be the one ending it." He seethes, the venom in his words suffocating me and closing my throat. His eyes are on fire, his warning final.

Camden St. James was the shadow, a devil dancing in the dark who knew my every move. No matter how hard I tried, I simply couldn't avoid him.

***

Camden

There are days where I wish if the people I knew, the people associated with me wouldn't exist and just do the honorable thing of disappearing within the blink of an eye and never came back. Everyday it's the same fucking shit. Meet the same fucking people, conquer the field during practice sessions, indulge in my go-to vices and forget what the earth looks like. Inhaling the fumes of the joint in between my fingers, I take another long drag before flicking it in the trash can and make my way towards the entrance of Claremont, ready to dominate the hallway.

"It's in the middle of the season," Jaxon pins me with a hardened stare, his voice deep and low. "And here you are, biffing your mind ready to mess it up for all of us."

I wasn't in the mood to deal with his bullshit right now, let alone call his ass out in front of people watching. As my best friend, I know it's his duty to keep an eye out for me since I'm the designated knight in shining armor for my team. Coach wouldn't be impressed to know that one of his star players is a closeted junkie.

"Camden, I'm not kidding," Jaxon growls, when he catches hold of my arm. "If Coach finds out, you are done. Got that? Done."

He doesn't have to spell it out for me. "I lied," I yawn out of sheer boredom. "You have a second to take your hands off me before I rip your head off."

I hate myself for sounding like an arrogant, disillusioned and deluded motherfucker. But Jaxon is no saint either since he'd accompany me sometimes whenever he needed a good hit. Unlike me, he knew how to contain himself, whereas I am in need of serious counselling to keep the beast locked inside the cage. Jaxon's eyes shine with equal amounts of ferocity, he gets the hint although I know he's struggling to keep his composure not to tackle me to the ground.

"I've had enough of your shit, Camden. Don't expect me to cover the hell up for you once your ass gets caught in the barb wires. I'm done guarding your misery."

"Then why don't you just leave? Go on. Go ahead and say it. Leave like everybody else. You don't have to keep following me like a sick puppy in the pouring rain." I yank my arm free from his grip and walk toward history class, not even bothering to look behind me.

Ms. Moretti is a definite eight point nine out of ten. The reason I've deducted points on the appeal-o-meter scale, is because of her refusal to shut the hell up. It's been almost an hour and she's still going on and on about the disobedience movement that took place in India. Not my problem. There's too much going on around me, and I need another dose of hybrid to get buzzed. I'm about to get up, when I notice Aaron Jones, one of the players from my team, flicking balls of crumpled paper in Brooklyn's direction. My nostrils flare as I'm not really enthusiastic in sharing my goddamn food. The pencil I've been playing with in my hand breaks in two solid halves when I notice Aaron slowly getting up from his seat, his fingers going behind Brooklyn's shirt and snapping her bra-strap, I'm sure the entire class heard it.

Son of a cock-sucking bitch.

I'm up from my seat and immediately tackle Aaron onto the ground, hearing the cartilage of his nose crack.

"What in the world is wrong with you?!" I scream, spitting into his face. Aaron grunts in pain, and he sure as hell deserves a lot more than just a punch on his ball sack of a nose. "What was on your mind for you to do something as shitty as that? The world has already gone for a toss and you fucked it up even more, you sick bitch!" I punch him one last time, before I look up to see Brooklyn's jaw hanging open in horror, tears pooling in her eyes. I wasn't supposed to care. I was supposed to mind my own business. Why is she making me want to care? Why is she starting to become relevant to me? Is this her way of getting back at me?

"Mr. St. James, that is enough!" Ms. Moretti affirms, pulling me off Aaron's disgusting mess of a body. "Principal's office, now!"

"Sue me, then!" I bark back, throwing my hands up in the air. I smirk, zeroing in on her. "The bad guys are always the first ones to get blamed while the real bad guys like him, go unscathed. You know exactly what you saw.," I walk up to her, growling in her face.

Ms. Moretti's eyes widen in amazement and horror, as I refuse to step back. She has the guts to accuse me of dissecting that idiot who touched my prey, but doesn't have the courage to look me in the eye and has the audacity to look guilty? I'm not falling for that shit. I'm not angry, I'm just doing the right thing. Applications for society to give me a blowjob are currently open.

"And you know exactly who did it." I shift my incensed gaze at Brooklyn, feeling my heart clench at her tear-soaked face. "Ms. Moretti, if you look at Finely closely ... she's wearing a fucking top and she's fully clothed. Did you hear her asking for it? Did you hear even a whisper off it?"

I look back at Ms. Moretti, her eyes widening even more with guilt, ready to fall out of her sockets, and me ready to chew and spit the filth radiating out of her. "Women today are being told what they can and can't wear, and like us men, they have their rights too. They don't have to walk every night, shivering in fear, wondering if they are being followed. Imagine if a similar such thing happened to your own child, boy or a girl, how would that make you feel? As a mother? As a woman?"

I clench my fists, the entire room going silent and completely still.

"What you saw right now? Was a case of violation and Finely didn't invite it. Take me to the office, I don't give a shit. I'm dead enough to not care. Isn't this place supposed to promote safety? Clearly, you failed at your job. Probably because, half of the things that come out of that joke of a mouth of yours don't really make sense," I hear some of my classmates snicker behind me. "And I'm sure everyone in here will vouch for me," I turn my head back and look at my classmates, who are all shaking under my wrath. They all nod in agreement. I then turn my back and walk towards Brooklyn, leaning in and breathing into her ears.

"I didn't do it because you matter to me. I'm just trying to convey that I'm an asshole who does the right thing. So don't get any bright ideas. You are still irrelevant."

That was the first time I stood up for Brooklyn Finely. She mattered to me.

A hell lot.

That was also the first time where my heart started to ache because it was connected to Brooklyn. Her heart ached and so did mine. Bile clogs my throat like a drain pipe., I immediately rush to the bathroom, and before I could reach for the sink, I threw up, the palpitations in my chest becoming tighter.

Present Day,

Camden, 18

Three days before summer

"We killed it!"

I smile at the sight of my best friend and wide receiver, Jaxon Keller, chest-bumping my other teammate Vince Andersen as he swings his fist up in the air, before removing his shirt and tossing it into his bag. "If it weren't for that throw, St. James, we would've gone King Kong up their asses."

I snort.

It wasn't an easy game as we not only butted heads in the middle, but we most certainly fought tooth and nail. Winning against North Ridge Prep, was equivalent to facing the grim reaper, trying to convince it in letting you live. Claremont's legacy on the field has always remained maddeningly consistent. The only time we lost, was when we played against Stone Creek Valley. While my team mean the world to me, shedding pixie tears, isn't something I'm in the mood for.

"Party at my place, drinks are on me. Yo, you coming, St. James?" Darrell Witherspoon, who is the running back for our team, hollers across the gymnasium. His enthusiasm never fails to amuse me.

"Can't usually say no to drinking myself stupid, but I got something planned for Olivia," I wink, as I slip my arms into a fresh white T-shirt and pull it over my head, before sliding my arms into my signature varsity jacket. My heart does a nervous flip as the image of Olivia's face bangs into my mind.

Olivia is one of the cheerleaders, and we've been together for almost two years now. I wanted to do something special for her as it's her birthday today. Dinner at Emilio's, movie night at the park, and watching the stars under the sky. To say I've nailed the role of the perfect fucking boyfriend would be a lot more than just an understatement. Jaxon and the boys whistle, some of them bro-slapping my back.

"Man, did Jesus pay careful attention to you or somethin'? I've had my eye on your girl for too damn long!"

"Can't help I'm his favorite moonchild," I smirk, grabbing my gym bag. "Keep dreaming, Roberts." Fist-bumping Jaxon on my way out, I pull out my phone to send Olivia a quick text, informing her that I'll be picking her up in a minute. This is the first time I'm going the extra mile in doing something special, which every girl seems to want in a relationship. Looking at the sky, I smile wide knowing my mom would be proud of me. Just as I'm about to head towards the parking lot, the sound of muffled giggles and bodies thumping against the lockers freeze my flow of thought. Leaving the laughter of my teammates behind in the locker room, I walk toward the furtive sounds.

I freeze.

I do nothing except stand and stare. My attention is fixated on the ginger-haired girl, who is semi naked, underneath a guy who happens to be from my team. Instant regret and horror fill her face. The longer I continue to stare, the more I start to realize that I've been lied to. Two years. Those two whole years were nothing but a pretty lie.

"Baby, it's not what it looks like." Olivia pushes her fuck buddy away as she stops in front of me and takes my hands in hers. Her touch is foreign. It's amazing how I refused to read between the lines and accept the harsh reality behind it. It being the girl who is supposed to be my world. You. Know. What? How about rephrasing that and be a little more comfortable with fucking Shakespeare terminologies. It being Persephone who is supposed to be my-me as Hades-entire world.

"Camden," Olivia sobs, moving her hands to my arms. I yank my arms away from her grasp and shove her from me. I don't want her anywhere near me. I want her gone. For life.

"Don't touch me," My voice is low and raspy. The skin on my palms tears under my nails from fisting them so hard. "Here's what's going to happen. I don't want to see you...'kay? I don't want to talk to you, and I don't want to fucking look at you. You simply leave me alone and get out of my sight. Do you understand me? Away from my sight."

I brush past her and don't bother with another glance. My heart is racing like a wild beast as it takes every bit of my self-control to not lunge toward the asshole who was getting it on with my ex-girlfriend. So much for being brothers. So much for being a boyfriend. Where did I go wrong? When did it all start to go downhill?

When you think about anger, sadness, and happiness, there is a red thread that keeps them connected. Not because they are emotions, but they are all associated with pain. When you are angry, you are in pain. You either scream, self-destruct, or simply need time alone to make the pain go away. When you are sad, you are in pain. You either want somebody to be there and listen to you, or you want to be in a place that promises a sense of security. And when you're happy? Hell, you are in pain too. Anybody can be fucking happy and pretend their world is full of sunshine and rainbows. Happiness can be faked. So can love.

Right now, I want to do something that would stop me from feeling. Something strong enough, that would make me forget. Just when I'm about to set the world on fire and call it fucking rain, something in the corner of the gymnasium catches my attention. Something pink; it looks like a miniscule va-jay-jay. Crouching down,-I grab the hideous, eyesore of a pink journal and frown.

It's a journal for Christ's sake. And who even maintains one, let alone label it as 'Secret' in silver glitter glue? I know it shouldn't be any of my goddamn business, but I can't seem to put it down, no matter how hard I'm cringing and how much bleach I'll be needing to unsee this crap.

Flipping the journal open, my eyes stop at a name. There aren't enough words to describe how much I despise the person who wrote it. It belongs to a certain, curly-haired girl who did nothing but infuriate me whenever I'd see her. Be it in the cafeteria, the hallway, or even the football field ... Brooklyn Finely was everywhere. She was the ray of light shining in my kingdom of darkness that I couldn't avoid. A light that was destined to melt my castle of tar into a puddle.

And I wasn't going to let it happen.